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It was a little past midnight when they were able to leave their hiding place. Only then had the guards ceased to search the keep to scour the grounds instead.
They made their way silently down the corridor and found it led to the atrium over the main entrance hall. Jareth cautiously peered down into the hall to take stock of any ongoing activity. He shook his head and quickly returned to Yandro.
“We’ll have to wait a little longer or find some other way back to the cells,” he softly said. “There aren’t as many soldiers about, but there are more servants than there were when we first arrived.”
“Which confirms Xeren’s presence here,” Yandro murmured. “Do you think they’re from the town or did he bring them with him?”
Jareth continued to scan the hallway. “They’re likely from the town for them to have arrived shortly after he did. They could not possibly have kept up if they traveled by wain from Tharasin.”
Yandro winced when his belly growled once more. They had not eaten anything since the previous day’s lunch and that one a light meal only. He was now quite famished. He fervently hoped his stomach’s voluble complaints would not betray their whereabouts.
He grumbled softly that they should have had a decent meal in the town before attempting their rescue of Ambassador Leyhar.
“Wherefore when we can procure one here?” Jareth murmured just before he stepped out of sight.
Startled by his sudden disappearance, Yandro was slow to react. With a soft curse, he started to go after Jareth. But before he could exit the passageway, Jareth was back, dragging an unconscious servant behind him with one hand. With his other hand he bore a tray on which were arrayed wedges of bread and cheese, thick slices of salted ham and a large cluster of black grapes.
“I saw him coming up the stairs,” Jareth explained.
He motioned with his head toward the servant prompting Yandro to look down. He realized a bottle of wine lay nestled on the Deir’s stomach.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Yandro plucked the bottle and followed Jareth back to the trysting hole, glancing back at the servant doubtfully.
“He’ll sound the alarm as soon as he awakens,” he said as they entered the room. “They’ll realize we didn’t leave the keep and go back to searching inside.”
“He won’t wake too soon,” Jareth assured him. “I placed a command in his mind to take a nice long nap. It will be a while before he rouses or anybody finds him in so hidden a corridor.”
Ignoring Yandro’s shocked gape, he placed the tray on the bedstead and layered several slices of ham between two wedges of bread. This he handed to Yandro before doing the same for himself. Yandro bit hungrily into his food.
“Besides, he didn’t see me,” Jareth added. “And even if he did, he won’t remember anything, not even that he was bearing food somewhere. He’ll think he took a tumble and blame his bruises on it.”
“Another of your templar powers?” Yandro asked before taking another bite.
“And born healers as well.”
Yandro frowned as he chewed. He swallowed his mouthful and then remarked, “I’m not sure whether to be awed or scared. You haven’t done that to me, have you? Or plan to?”
Jareth shook his head. “I’d have taken away your memory of ending our affair if I’d stooped so low as that. We don’t use our talents lightly. There lies the path to temptation and corruption.”
“And you templars are immune to temptation and the like?” Yandro asked skeptically before popping a grape and piece of cheese into his mouth.
“Nay, and it’s the reason we’re trained from the moment our powers manifest themselves. It’s to ensure we understand the responsibilities that come with our gifts.”
“Well, I suppose it’s possible when you’re led by the likes of your brother. But I can’t believe all others are as noble as he.”
“Of course there are those who would use their power for the wrong reasons, even amongst our leaders. We’ve never claimed otherwise. But we constantly monitor our ranks regardless of whence we hail. In my current lifetime thus far, there has been no templar gone renegade. I heartily pray there won’t be.”
“Is it that worrisome? Did you have experience of one in a previous life?”
Jareth’s expression turned reminiscent, his eyes losing focus as his thoughts drifted far away or rather back in time. “Many cycles ago,” he murmured. “It was... difficult to say the least.”
“Why?” Yandro curiously asked. “What did he do?”
“He allied himself with a despot bent on making an empire of Lydan for himself.”
“The whole continent?” Yandro snorted. “There’s no lack of would-be conquerors in Aisen’s history, is there?”
“Because there’s never a lack of fools,” Jareth pointed out.
“Unfortunately true,” Yandro agreed. “So what did you do when you caught him?”
“There’s only one punishment meted out for such a transgression,” Jareth quietly said. “Death.”
Yandro stared at him. “You execute your renegades? Always?”
“The alternative is no better than death. Indeed, I deem it worse.”
“What can be worse than death?”
Jareth’s expression turned dark and troubled. “If we don’t outright slay a renegade, we have to guarantee that he will never be able to wield his powers again. So we would perforce strip that part of his mind which produces the energy on which his power feeds.”
Yandro nearly choked on his last mouthful. “Wha-what do you mean by that? How?”
“We’d render him incapable of accessing his mind’s energy. But doing so would entail breaching his shields, which in a templar are the strongest and most rigid of all. Such an incursion could drive him mad. Add the forcible removal of a templar’s control over his own mind—it would destroy his reason and sentience. He’d be little more than an unthinking, unfeeling shell. Existing rather than living.”
“Holy saints.” Yandro shuddered at the thought of such a fate. “Death would indeed be preferable.” He gazed searchingly at Jareth. “Does it frighten you, having such inordinate power at your disposal?”
“It did when I first understood what I possessed,” Jareth admitted. “But once I learned how to control it, as well as my own impulses, I stopped fearing it. What has never ceased is the loneliness; the feeling of being alone so often in this world. Being a templar is as much a burden as it is a blessing, but I can only speak of it with my fellow templars. When I’m amongst them, I can share my thoughts and feelings and thus the burden lightens. But I can’t always be with them, not even Tenryon, and so at all other times, I have to keep everything to myself and always take care not to disclose what I am.”
His eyes held a trace of weariness Yandro would have previously construed as bodily fatigue.
“There are many ways of being different and just because it isn’t readily apparent, it’s not necessarily easier to cope with.”
Yandro gazed at him sympathetically. He understood better than most what being different could cost a person.
“But why hide in the first place? I mean, I know in the ancient days, when much of our forefathers’ knowledge was lost, templars were oft mistaken for sorcerers. So it was either hide or be burned at the stake. But nowadays, that belief is gone.”
Jareth wanly smiled. “That belief is gone, but folk still fear what we could do if we turned our thoughts to conquest and enslavement. So we keep what we are secret that we may move amongst them without inspiring suspicion and resistance when we do wield our powers.”
Yandro took a few moments to absorb the information. And then he comprehended the depth of Jareth’s trust in him to share such a secret with him.
He sighed as he realized how swiftly he was falling in love with the ambassador all over again. Nay, he’d never fallen out, he ruefully admitted. What he was feeling now was a deepening of the love that had been there for so long and from which there would be no retreating again.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he murmured.
“I should have trusted you with this long ago,” Jareth regretfully said.
Though he heartily agreed, Yandro forbore to respond in a chiding manner. It would only dampen Jareth’s spirits. So he cheekily replied, “Yes, you should have. But it’s never too late to learn something new. Even old hounds manage it.”
Jareth stared at him and then grinned. “I hope you’re right.”
He took several swigs of the wine and then handed the bottle to Yandro who likewise drank his fill.
“The meal must have been intended for Xeren,” Yandro commented. He took a last mouthful of the wine and handed it back to Jareth. “This is excellent.”
“And much too good for the likes of him,” Jareth said.
Yandro glanced out the window. The night was old. Dawn was but a few hours away. He stood up and looked out at the courtyard and bailey below. In the light of numerous torches, he could make out what was going on.
A small group of soldiers was heading out on foot. They crossed the moat bridge and fanned out as soon as they reached the other side. Yandro watched the pattern of their dispersal for a while.
“I think we can try our luck now, Dyhar,” he said. “Some guards just left the keep. From the looks of their movements, I suspect they’re going to search the area outside the estate.”
“Then they probably think we’re no longer within.”
“Yes. And by the by, many of the servants are out front too.” Yandro turned and explained, “They’re unloading two newly arrived wains of trunks and bundles of linen and crates of ale and more wine. Xeren must be preparing for a long stay. I highly doubt those luxuries are for the manor folk.”
“Certainly not.” Jareth rose to his feet. He lightly touched Yandro’s injured arm. “How does this feel? Is the pain worse?”
“It’s no better or worse than before. It doesn’t feel as if infection has set in if that’s what worries you.”
“It is. The sooner a physician treats your wound, the better.” Jareth led the way to the hidden door. “Let’s hope the saints are with us. A hefty dose of luck won’t hurt either.”
––––––––
With the majority of the keep’s residents busy elsewhere, they managed to return to the side stairs and make their way down to the cells, passing through the jailer’s quarters instead of taking the main entrance. There was no one about and the bodies of the guards they’d slain earlier had been taken away.
Yandro spotted a key ring bearing eight keys hanging from a peg above the one table in the chamber. He took it down and hastened out to the cell corridor to join Jareth.
The ambassador was studying the configuration of the keyhole on the lock of Theron Leyhar’s cell. When Yandro handed him the keys, he rifled through them and quickly selected one. Yandro could not help staring at him in admiration when the key turned in the lock with ease.
The door sprang open, and Yandro hurried inside to check on Leyhar while Jareth freed the ambassador’s aide and secretary. Yandro looked up as they entered the cell.
“He’s so weak, Dyhar,” he anxiously said. “I can barely feel his pulse. I doubt he’ll last if we try to carry him out of here.”
Jareth swore under his breath and dropped to his knees before the elderly Deir. “What did they do? Starve him?”
“And left him exposed to the elements,” the secretary said, his voice vibrating with anger. “He looked feverish our fifth night here. We asked for a blanket for him, but they ignored us.”
“They wouldn’t even let one of us take care of him,” the aide added. His brows knit in apprehension. “Holy saints, will he die?”
Jareth scowled, his hands falling on the ambassador’s forehead and chest. “Not if I can help it.”
Yandro looked at him wonderingly. “What can you do for him?”
“Lend him my strength. It should be enough to keep him alive until we can get him to a healer.”
“But won’t it weaken you as well?” Yandro asked worriedly.
Leyhar appeared on the brink of death. It would take a prodigious amount of energy to pull him back from it. What if in pouring energy into the ambassador, Jareth perforce overextended himself?
Jareth shook his head. “I know my limits. But be warned, if I do this, I’ll likely not have enough strength to open a portal. We’ll be forced to ride to the border.”
Yandro grimaced. “The nearest fief is Losshen and it’s thirty leagues away by the main road. More than a day’s ride from here without stopping. I don’t see how we’ll manage to get away unseen.”
“We have no choice. Leyhar will die if we attempt to move him as he is.”
“Veres help us,” the aide muttered.
Yandro looked at the other two. They looked both frightened and hopeful. He dropped his gaze to Leyhar. The Deir’s breathing was so shallow, his chest barely moved. He sighed and nodded his acquiescence.
“Stand guard at both doors,” he instructed Leyhar’s companions. “Warn us on the slightest suspicion of someone approaching.”
The pair nodded and hurried off to do his bidding. Meanwhile, Jareth had already begun to gather his mind’s energy and direct it into the ambassador. Eyes half-closed, his hands on Leyhar’s chest, he was focused entirely on lending the feeble Deir his strength. Yandro bit down on his lower lip, partly in awe and partly in fear, when he saw a faint glimmer flare gently under Jareth’s palms.
It was not as radiant as the light he’d witnessed emanate from the hands of natural healers. And while Jareth’s eyes gleamed with otherworldly luminescence, it was muted compared to the eerie glow he’d seen shine in the physician Eiren Sarvan’s eyes when he tended a patient. Nonetheless, Yandro was amazed anyone could generate such power.
Of a sudden, Leyhar drew a deep gasping breath and his eyelids fluttered. Yandro also noted some color had returned to his cheeks and lips. A moment later, the old diplomat opened his eyes and gazed at them owlishly.
“Ha-Hadrana?” he mumbled. His eyes darted about in confusion.
“You’ve done it, Dyhar!” Yandro softly exclaimed. “You can stop now.”
Jareth nodded and lifted his hands from Leyhar’s chest. To Yandro’s puzzlement, he stayed still for several heartbeats, his eyes trained unseeingly on the far wall. Yandro anxiously wondered if he’d expended more energy than was healthy for him. But the ambassador suddenly looked at him, his eyes focused again. He did not seem weakened and that drove most of Yandro’s worry away.
“Let’s go,” Jareth murmured.
He summoned the other two who promptly hurried back. To leave Jareth and Yandro free to protect them should the necessity arise, Leyhar’s companions insisted on taking him. They supported him between them, gently urging him to sling his arms across their shoulders. In this fashion they half walked, half carried him along.
Given Leyhar’s infirmity, they were forced to take the main stairway, which was not as steep as the side stairs. Jareth led the way while Yandro took up the rear.
Halfway up, they heard the approach of Deira. A group of three appeared on the landing above them—two guards and none other than Xeren Hamara.
The prince stared at them in shock and then cried out and hastily ducked behind the guards. Jareth took the rest of the stairs two steps at a time, evaded the arcing slice of one guard’s sword to his neck. He grabbed the Deir by the neck and slammed his head against the wall hard enough to crack his skull. He dashed after Xeren as Yandro managed to get past the others and rammed his shoulder into the other guard, knocking him off the stairs. The Deir plummeted two levels down into darkness and hit the bottom with a faint but sickening thud.
Shouting for help, Xeren frantically ran down the corridor. But Jareth overtook him before he reached the main hallway. He grabbed the Terazian by the collar, spun him around, and dealt him a hard blow to the chin. Xeren collapsed without so much as a croak.
Yandro caught up with them just as Jareth hauled Xeren up and unceremoniously hoisted him over his shoulder. He motioned to Yandro and the others to hurry and took off at a trot. Yandro stared after him, taken aback by this evidence of his former lover’s strength. Veres help him if Jareth ever brought that strength to bear on him when they coupled. Not that they would be doing that anytime soon, he hastily reminded himself as he followed the ambassador.
They stayed away from the main hallway and sought another door out of the keep. Yandro knew they would be eventually discovered. But they could delay the moment by keeping to the shadows and hopefully buy enough time to escape the keep and get back to their steeds.
The secretary recalled hearing their jailers speak of a side entrance, which opened to the garden. “Perhaps the garden won’t be guarded as heavily,” he suggested.
“It likely won’t,” Jareth agreed. “Is there a path to the bridge, or will we have to find some other way to cross the moat?”
“I don’t know for certes, Dyhar. But they spoke of sneaking off the estate to keep assignations by passing through the garden.”
“Then there is a way out from there.”
Jareth closed his eyes, frowning in concentration. Yandro realized he was trying to recall every memory about the manor that he’d taken from the guard they’d encountered. Jareth suddenly opened his eyes, the gleam in them indicating he’d found his answer.
“The barracks are outside the west wing and the kitchens and livestock pens in the back. It stands to reason the only place left for a garden would be by the east wing.”
They turned down the next corridor and soon found themselves in a parallel hallway. It was deserted at the moment and so dark they had to slow their pace while they searched for the right door.
“Your Excellency,” the aide hissed. “I think that’s the door yonder.”
They made out an arched door several yards away, barely visible in the pale moonlight streaming in through the windows on either side of it. Jareth cautioned them to wait while he went ahead and checked if there were guards about. He returned swiftly and confirmed the garden was devoid of folk.
The door’s surface was grimy and its handle tarnished with age and lack of maintenance. But the hinges were well oiled and thus the door opened with hardly a sound. The secretary had heard right that many a manor resident used this way to sneak out of the building.
“I wonder how many trysts were perforce canceled tonight,” Jareth dryly remarked as they stepped out into the fading night.